


One Man’s Trash Is Another Man’s Treasure

by ufp13



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ufp13/pseuds/ufp13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post 3.17; At the end of the day, Sharon takes the time to clear her head of the tornado that is her ex-husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Man’s Trash Is Another Man’s Treasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leveragus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leveragus/gifts).



> written on the occasion of the third gift exchange over at LJ  
> A HUUUGE thank you to Sira for cheerleading, betaing and being awesome. *SQUISHES*

_Who would come here sober?_

She knew better than to give a damn about anything Jack said when he was drunk, knew better than to let it get to her, knew that he wouldn’t have said it if he had been sober, but he hadn’t been sober and he had said it. And it hurt.

Yes, he had apologised, and for once, it seemed as if he had actually meant it, but it was too little, too late. And although she had walked away with her head held high, it didn’t mean she didn’t feel the pain needling her soul. On top of an emotionally draining case, it seemed to her as if she had no strength left in her body. Which was why she had dropped onto the couch the moment she had gotten home.

Her jacket had been thrown over the backrest, her heels were lying next to the couch where they had fallen as she had kicked them off without care, she was lying on the couch, curled up, glad to have talked Rusty out of cancelling his plans in favour of keeping her company as he wouldn’t see her tears now.

She had thought herself beyond tears when it came to Jack, but obviously, she had been mistaken. Damn him for still being able to affect her as much as he did. Most of her had moved on years, even decades ago; a part of her would always stay behind, though, to mourn the wonderful person she had once fallen in love with, clinging to the hope that he would manage to turn his life around, if not for her, their benefit anymore then for his own and maybe their children’s.

The divorce had officially freed her, had cut the last legal ties she had had to Jack. All that remained were their two children and his name. For a minute, she had contemplated returning to her maiden name, but as fast as the thought had popped up, she had dismissed it again. The paperwork aside, the main reasons for keeping this connection to Jackson Raydor were, of course, the children and her professional reputation. Working in FID might not have made her many friends among fellow officers, but it had made her a household name at the DA’s office, at the court – often an advantage she didn’t want to surrender. Also, a change of name would raise more questions than she was willing to answer. Sharon Raydor she would continue to be.

Feeling a tear drop onto her hand, she swore to herself that these would be the last tears she would shed over Jack for as long as he lived.

For a long time, she stared unseeingly ahead, taking the most recent memories connected to this very couch she was lying on apart, slowly, word by word, sentence by sentence, working through the events before she would dump them into a box to never see the light of day ever again. She didn’t want to always be reminded of today’s event when she looked at this piece of furniture, especially since she happened to love it.

Having lost her sense of time, she didn’t know how many minutes or hours had passed since she had lain down when it softly knocked on her door.

She contemplated whether she felt up for company, who it could be. Rusty wouldn’t knock, Jackson wouldn’t dare show up (she hoped), her children would use their keys or call. The group of people who knew what kind of day she had had was small which narrowed down the possibilities a lot. The person on the top of that short list was one she wouldn’t mind seeing right now. So she swung her legs off the couch, wiped her face, finding her tears dried, wondering how smudged her make-up was, and slowly got up.

Opening the door, she found the person she had hoped for about to turn and leave. Apparently, she had taken so long to react that he had assumed she either was either asleep or not home.

With a small but real smile, she opened the door wide and stepped back, wordlessly inviting him in.

He studied her closely, looking for clues of her mood. He noticed traces of tears shed recently, signs of fatigue and exhaustion but no tension. Even to his trained eye, she appeared relaxed, at peace. He considered that, at least, a good thing.

Coming here hadn’t been a conscious decision. He swore his car had driven there on its own. When he had entered the building, he hadn’t had any idea what to expect. The case had been nerve-racking for all of them, but the moment he had learned of Jackson’s presence and combined that with her sad expression after they had already closed the case, he had known the day had been doubly hard for her. When he came to seek her out at the end of the day, though, she had already left, for once without saying goodbye. Another clue that something was wrong. And just like that, he had found himself at her doorstep.

The feeling of disappointment with a side dish of worry that filled him when his knocking failed to evoke any sounds that would indicate he had been heard or that anybody was home took him a bit by surprise. The worry was to be expected, she was a friend of his, a good friend, a very good friend even. The disappointment, though? Not so much. He hadn’t been aware of how much he had been looking forward to seeing her, to check on her, to maybe take some weight off her shoulders or help her in whatever way he could. He hadn’t dared call her, afraid he might wake her had she already turned in. She needed a good night sleep.

Obviously, she hadn’t even made it to bed, yet. Good for him, but probably not so good for her. As the disappointment disappeared, the worry increased.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

After a look at his face, she decided that it hadn’t been work that made him come there and that he wasn’t in a hurry either. So she nodded at the couch while inquiring if he wanted anything to drink or to eat.

“A cup of tea would be nice, but please, sit down before you fall down.” He guided her over to the couch where he gently but firmly pushed her down.

“That bad?” she asked.

“Worse,” he said and added, “but still beautiful.” He couldn’t help the compliment. It earned him the reaction he had hoped for: a shy smile and an eye-roll. Getting compliments wasn’t something she was used to, although he did his best to change that.

“Want some, too?” he asked, filling the kettle.

“Yes, please.”

As he reached for the tea and two cups while waiting for the water to heat, he had to realise that he knew his way around her kitchen way better than he should. However, he decided not to question or overthink that fact.

“Where’s Rusty?” he asked.

“So he hasn’t called you to check on me?”

“No, but it might not have been a bad idea.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

She glared at him, but let it drop, instead focused on his original question. “Rusty’s at a chess tournament. I practically had to kick him out the door. But he deserves some fun after the last twenty-four hours.”

“What happened?” he asked, pouring water into the cups before carrying them over to the coffee table, joining her on the couch.

“Jack happened,” she said, her eyes focused on the steaming tea.

He remained silent, waited patiently for her to continue at her own pace. If she hadn’t wanted to share this with him, she would have cut him off without giving him any answer.

“He was here when Rusty came home yesterday.”

Andy raised an eyebrow, wondering how Jack had gotten into the apartment, but decided that this was not the right moment to inquire about this particular detail.

“Drunk.”

The second eyebrow joined the first near his hairline. To say he was completely surprised by this would be a lie. Jack Raydor had never managed to stay on the wagon for long. He hadn’t expected the man to rub it in Sharon’s face, though.

“With money he had won gambling and wanted to share with me.”

His jaw moved a bit in the opposite direction the eyebrows had taken. This got better and better. The audacity of the man was simply unbelievable. 

“Rusty convinced me to leave him alone with Jack. He handled him this morning.”

This hurt her the most about this whole affair, he realised, noticing the pain in her tone. She had done her best to shield Rusty, to provide him with a stable home, as normal a life as possible given the circumstances, and now, thanks to Jack, she considered herself not being much better, much different than his birthmother. While she couldn’t be farther away from the truth with this comparison, he was sure she had made it, mentally berated herself for not having protected him better, even if it wasn’t her fault.

He put a hand on her shoulder, rubbed it lightly in an attempt to console her, to remind her he was there for her, for her son, for her family, really, whenever they needed him.

Leaning her head to the side, she trapped his hand between her shoulder and cheek, humming quietly as she moved closer to him, seeking the comfort he so freely offered. He relocated his hand to her other shoulder, effectively tucking her against his side, happy she hadn’t rejected him, seemed to draw strength from him.

For a few minutes, silence reigned; both of them lost in their thoughts – he divesting the information, she relishing the peacefulness of the moment. However, it was she who ended the quietude.

“He came to apologise at the office.”

He had expected as much. It was part of the ritual: get drunk, do something stupid, apologise, swear to never drink again. Repeat.

“Whatever Rusty had done or said must have gotten through to him.”

“But...” he prompted her with the word he could hear in her tone, speaking up for the first time since she had begun talking.

“Too little, too late. Way too late.”

He nodded, having heard similar stories more often than he could count.

“I wish him all the best. I want for him to have a good relationship with the children, but...”

“Yeah.” He knew what she meant, knew walking away, distancing herself from him was the best she could do for herself. “You did the right thing.” She surely knew that, but it couldn’t hurt for her to hear it, to have it confirmed out loud.

“Thank you.” Resting her head on his shoulder, she cuddled a tiny bit closer.

There was more to it, though, he could sense it. She hadn’t told him everything yet that was important about this incident. Some detail was missing, and it was an important one.

“What did he say?” he asked on a hunch, caressing her upper arm, feeling her tense at the question. So he had been right. Jack had been his usual drunk self, shooting words like arrows, perfectly aimed to do the most damage to his wife’s soul. Whether it was calculated on Jack’s part or not, she hurt.

She swallowed audible, and for a moment, he regretted asking, expected her to deny him an answer.

“Who would come here sober.” He wasn’t sure he had heard it, had heard correctly, so faint was her whisper as she spoke, but then she repeated it, much stronger, more confident, very matter-of-factly. “Who would come here sober.”

There was a time when Andy would have agreed, but not anymore. Not only had he been sober for two decades, he actually liked her these days, liked her a lot – loved her, actually. He could only shake his head at the dickishness that was Jackson Raydor, felt the urge to punch the guy in the face, hard, wanted to protect the woman in his arm from all the evil, all the hurt. Not that she really needed any protection, would allow any man to cast her as a damsel in distress. No, she was strong, independent and didn’t need any man to fight her battles. To be honest, within the LAPD, she was very likely more feared than he was. Therefore, he felt honoured and humbled that she allowed herself to be vulnerable around him, with him, allowed him to see her like this.

“Anybody in his right mind,” he said, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. “Just shows that he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” Lifting her head up, he, a bit reluctantly, put some distance between them, but it was necessary for him to be able to look her in the eyes, and he wanted to do just that when he said what he was about to say, he wanted her to see the truth in his eyes, wanted her to believe him completely.

“Rusty loves being here. Your kids love being here. Nicole loved being here. I love being here, and I wouldn’t want to be anything but sober when I’m here, because then I would be in no condition to enjoy your company, and I do enjoy it. Very much.”

Her eyes became watery, but judging by the shy smile on her lips, these unshed tears weren’t sad ones.

“Thank you, Andy.” In what could be considered a bold move, she leaned forward and grazed his lips with hers, a kiss too light, too short to really be called one, but still the best kiss he had gotten in years, if only because it held the sweet promise of more to come in the future.

He returned the smile. “Never for that.”

She tried to stifle a yawn, unsuccessfully.

“I should leave you alone and let you get some sleep,” he said, not really wanting to go but considering it the right thing to do. “You’re exhausted.”

Humming, she nodded, but instead of giving him space to get up, she shifted a bit and put her head in his lap. “Stay a little while longer? Until Rusty comes home?” she asked with undisguised hopefulness in her voice as she reached for the remote and offered it to him.

He took it from her, putting it next to him on the couch. “Always.”

The smile this one word answer earned him was nothing short of brilliant despite the tiredness that dominated her features. She mouthed “Thank you” before getting more comfortable and closing her eyes.

Ignoring the remote while stroking her head, playing with her hair, he used the time to look around, admire her home. As his gaze fell on the two cups of now cold tea on the table in front of him, he had to smile. Another thing this woman had changed about his life – she had taught him to enjoy a good cup of tea. Thanks to her, his life was richer than it had been in a very long time. Knowing her as he did now, he couldn’t imagine ever not wanting to have her in his life. Captain Raydor might have been a pain in his ass, but Sharon was a delight. Jack had been an idiot throwing her away and keeping on doing that time and again until this very day. However, Jack’s behaviour had played a big role in shaping the person Sharon was today, and for that, Andy would always quietly be thankful for, because he loved that woman and wouldn’t want to have her any other way. As they said: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

= End =


End file.
